The following days held more conversations while tending to Anders' once again scarred back; quiet ones, filled with words tinged with finality, before the younger man was sent to Kirkwall. Stories of the Blight inside and outside the tower, of how darkspawn were generally rather bad tree climbers, and how difficult it had proven to get the blood out of the cracks between the stones that made up the floors and walls both.
They were talks without the joy of reunion but with all the sorrow of a final parting and always watched over by a guard, making giving in to what both the heart and body wanted impossible. Karl allowed himself one last, desperate kiss because Anders' lips and eyes begged for one, and because he would never be able to forgive himself if he let that last chance pass him by. No matter what punishments may come, it would be worth it.
There were no declarations of a love that could never, must never be, no promises of keeping in touch with none of them wanting to give the other something so easily broken, but still wanting to give something. A last moment, then; of careful touches, caressing of stubble covered and bearded cheeks, stroking of hair that would have been a brilliant red gold in sunlight, the meeting of lips and of tongues, hands held together and fingers entwined and hearts beating in unison. Noses touching and foreheads resting against each other, perhaps for the last time.
No repercussions came, their guard on that day a tactful one, or perhaps more compassionate than most they had known before.
It was not until Anders had departed, sent away for good this time, finally out of thistower forever but not in a way any of them had wished, that Karl realised how much he had counted on him for stories of the outside world despite always hoping that he would manage to keep evading the templars this time, and how much he would miss them. If the hallways had felt empty after the Rebellion, they were the very Void itself now. Much too silent, and grey in a way they had never been before, one that had nothing to do with the stone they were built from. Muted and lifeless, and not only due to the diminished amount of mages and templars both, although the loss of so many of his brethren was a constant hurt gnawing at his heart. People he had known for his entire stay in the tower; most of his life. Friends and companions, students and seniors, chess partners as well as partners of the more casual kind.
The loss of Niall was one of the ones that hurt the most. He frequently found himself in the mood for a game of chess only to realise moments later that he was gone. Not like Anders, but forever and hopelessly absent from this side of the Veil. The fact that he had likely saved them all did not ease the pain of his loss.
It all left him with not much more to do with his days than think, his ability or perhaps even will to focus on anything not up to par. Not that it particularly mattered. Not much of anything truly did, until rumours of visitors reached him in the library where he had been staring at the same page for what felt like an eternity. Two of them, he was told, clad in silver and blue.
Only one thing would bring Wardens to the tower; the last times any had come, they had brought a mage away with them. Karl did not dare hope for himself, although he would trade this oppressive grey for that of a Warden's without a moment of hesitation. Not because being a Grey Warden was something he had ever previously coveted, but because the Circle no longer held anything dear to him and he doubted that it ever could again. The life of a Warden had to be better than a life confined within this place filled with nothing but memories of loss upon loss. It was not enough to make him face the danger of hope, but when a templar appeared in the library, seemingly searching for something, or more likely someone, he had to force a flicker of it down.
"Thekla." The templar beckoned him to come closer. "The Knight-Commander has sent for you." Karl knew better than to ask why and should know better than to hope, silently following the armoured man through the hallways and up to Greagoir's office. Both he and Irving were waiting for him there, accompanied by a man and a woman clad in blue and silverite armour.
"The Commander of the Grey," Greagoir said solemnly, "and Warden Alistair."
The Warden Commander was a short woman, with pulled back dark hair and determined eyes the colour of steel. She looked him up and down the way one would with a weapon, before nodding shortly, as if he would do .
"Please sit," she said with an authority as if the office were her own. She waved him to a bench already occupied by two women he vaguely recognised as Surana and Amell.
"I am here to recruit mage Wardens," she continued when he had taken his seat next to Surana, close enough to have his shoulder touch her long, unkempt hair, earning him a slight smile. "It is within my rights to simply conscript you, but I would like to offer you the chance of an informed choice. The training might kill you. The work might kill you. Peaceful deaths are not something many Wardens gets to experience. I cannot guarantee your safety, and while you will have certain freedoms, you will not be free. You will be in my employment, and thus paid, for the rest of your life."
She paced around next to the desk, her movements not nervous but impatient. "Alistair and I will leave in the morning. You have until then to make your decision." She stopped to look straight at them, her eyes strangely sad. "I hope we will have company on the way back."
"I can give you my answer right now," Amell said with more joy in her voice than he had heard in the tower for months, but the Warden shook her head.
"You will have this time to think," she insisted, and mentioned nothing of having no regrets.
Karl had known his answer as soon as he saw the Wardens. When his few possessions were packed, he filled the evening with silent goodbyes to the places within the one place he had known for more than twenty years, before leaping at the chance for a change he had taken so long to realise he wanted.
Both Amell and Surana were in the Great Hall when he descended with his pack at first light, to no surprise of his. Surana brimming with excitement, Amell with a hope that almost hurt to watch.
"Enchanter Thekla?" She asked, softly and with a sweet, shy smile. "I… do not believe we have been formally introduced before. I am Solona, and this," she nodded at Surana, "is Neria."
Karl returned the smile, as much as he could manage a smile these days. "Karl. None of that Enchanter Thekla business, if we are all going to be Wardens together."
"If we survive the training," Neria pointed out, not completely without cheer. "I wonder what kind of things they plan on putting us through, if they think we might not survive it."
"They could make us battle darkspawn, I suppose." Solona gave a short laugh. "But we have all defeated demons. After that, what threat could mere darkspawn pose?"
"If there happen to be any trees nearby, it will be even easier. Anders told me their climbing skills are lacking." Karl thought he had taken care to force any sadness out of his voice, but perhaps it had not been enough.
Solona's smile faded. "Kirkwall, was it…?" Karl nodded. "I have family there. That Circle is not inescapable, you know. One of my relatives eloped with a mage from it, it was a terrible scandal." She said the word terrible the way many others would say splendid, and reached out to touch his arm, briefly, summoning a new smile to lift his spirits.
It was an effort he appreciated as well as a cause of concern. How many more could have noticed that his affection for Anders had grown deeper than he should have allowed it to be?
The clanking of armour not worn by templars disrupted his train of thought.
"I trust you are certain of your decision to join us, no matter the reason for it," The Warden Commander said. "For informal occasions, you may call me Thora." Her eyes lingered at Karl's, and their storm grey hue spoke of knowing the want of getting away from what you had never wished for but been born into.